When twilight arrived last night, we played cards, read (endearing moments: Alex has been reading the Hobbit to Eleni), and then slept happily snuggled in our tent. By the setting of the sun, around 9 PM, we were out. There is definitely a natural rhythm to camping.
We woke up around 7 AM and hopped in the car in search of breakfast (I was mainly just interested in some coffee!). We visited a small village called Budle, but there was nothing open until 10 AM! Waiting for that time would obviously not work (for those of you who know my desperate need for caffeine in the AM! Yikes!).
Do not fear. We finally found coffee and food and packed a small picnic for later. Our goal for the day was to visit the small island (only 2 square miles) off the coast.
Holy Island, or Lindisfarne, is connected to the mainland by one long and narrow road that is only available for crossing over at low tide. This timing was a cause of great stress for Eleni; in the same manner that she constantly questioned us yesterday, “When is my warrior training?” Eleni kept at us with “Don’t we need to go back now?” and “What time is it?” and “Will we make it?”
St. Aidan founded this famous monastery on the island in 635, but the real claim to fame belongs to the monks of Lindisfarne and St. Cuthbert. The monks who worked and prayed here also painted the illuminated Lindisfarne Gospels, that make their way into most Art History books. But, the real show stealer for Holy Island is St. Cuthbert. He was a prior in 664, left for a life of solitude on the Island of Inner Farne and then became Bishop here in 685. He died soon after and was buried here at the Priory. The miraculous bit is that when they exhumed his body 11 years after his death, he was found undecayed! So, Lindisfarne temporarily became his shrine.
In walks Henry VIII. Lindisfarne was finally reestablished as a priory in the 11th century, but closed after the Dissolution in 1537. No worries; soon after, in 1550, Lindisfarne Castle was built. You can see it looming in the distance here.
We had our picnic lunch near these Dicken-esque boats and then, perfectly timed, the rain came.
To Eleni’s chagrin, we made it back to the mainland in time! There is something to the marked tides; the mixed feeling of adventure and possible isolation were constantly present. It’s thrilling (especially for a six-year-old), but this is also unfortunate, as the name Holy Island implies more of a spiritual pilgrimage and that was something that barely crossed my mind. Timing was a curse in that sense.
We set off for Berwick-upon-Tweed, which is the northernmost city in England and is famous for its thick Elizabethan walls and its English and Scottish background (It changed hands between the two between 1174 and 1482). Our timing was lousy. We were a bit done by this time of day and it was raining, so the biggest adventure for us was having a cup of tea and cakes in the “Thistle Do Nicely” tea shop. There was mention of “let’s walk around the walls “ (around a mile circuit), but that wasn’t popular with 75% of our group.
What was popular was a repeat visit to the seaside. In the late afternoon, Alex and Eleni revved up for their run around on the beach and dunes (outfit #2 demolished). We ate our meal in Bamburgh and then set up for another evening with the setting sun as our clock.
We ate our meal in Bamburgh. These photos are from our walk in Bamburgh after dinner.
No comments:
Post a Comment